


We're Young and We're Reckless, We'll Take this Way Too Far

by selfsong



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Dom/sub Undertones, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Multi, PB&J, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M, endgame pimmbits, filth referenced but not depicted, maybe I'll get there in later chapters?, my trash sons being trash, pimmbits, possibly overtones eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfsong/pseuds/selfsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bro, we were both plenty involved in the debauched, gay, rock-star sex here, that is not going on my tab.  Well. I’m paying for the hotel room and damages.  It’s not going on my moral tab.”<br/>“You signed three tits, two asscheeks, and a scrotum like some sort of porn remake of the Twelve Days of Christmas.”</p><p> </p><p>Bitty, Kent, Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Young and We're Reckless, We'll Take this Way Too Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fragilehuge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge/gifts).



“Ughh.”

Kent blinked with more effort than was usually required. Hotel room, naked, headache, pretty thoroughly pinned to the bed by a small but heavy blond person, also naked. Right: Vegas, drinking, Bitty. He remembered Bitty, and was pleased to find him still there. Kent was seriously getting to be such a good adult, hooking up with people he actually liked and remembering them in the morning. He wiggled and contorted his face, trying to somehow improve the stickiness of his eyes without disturbing Bitty. Actually, the rest of him was pretty sticky too.

Bitty made a grumbly noise and mashed his face into Kent’s chest while clamping down on the wrist he’d apparently been gripping all night.

“Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I think I’m awake. Just. Be good. No moving.”

Kent moved just enough to stroke the hand he still controlled over Bitty’s hip and waist, tucking him a little bit closer. He waited a few moments more to say, “You know, I actually feel pretty okay? I may have blacked out in the middle somewhere, but I was definitely on the way to sober when we got back here. I think I might have slept through most of the hangover. Day drinking was such a responsible decision.”

Bitty rolled a shoulder experimentally and yawned. “Same, actually. I’ve got my memories up through talking our way onto the Cirque du Soleil stage after hours, and I fully recall fucking you on the balcony. The middle’s a little squiffy, but I mostly feel like I need breakfast, not like I’m going to die.”

Kent tried to stretch his free hand towards the phone without sitting up, but Bitty flopped off of him. He ran his eyes over Kent, pinched his nipple hard, and then patted his pec affectionately. He stretched and walked away toward the bathroom, calling back, “Get pastries.”

Kent stared at his ass, then ordered the pastries.

 

When Kent got out of the shower Bitty was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed looking snottily at 7/8ths of a pulled-apart croissant on his breakfast tray. Kent sat, close enough to brush their shoulders despite the generous dimensions of the bed, and took the lid off of his own tray.

“This croissant was made in a factory.”

“Dude. Has anyone told you you're a snob?”

“Me? _Darlin’ Ah am from the Real Americuh, and I’ll thank yah kindly not to cast aspersions on mah standahds_.”

Kent snorted at his heightened accent and swapped his bacon plate for the croissant’s mangled corpse.

Bitty continued, “Standards aren't snobbery, you godless heathen Yankee. This viennoiserie is not worthy of the name or fit for human consumption. Anyway, _who_ exactly is the tabloid horror show here? You kept demanding bottle service at 7/11 last night.”

“You flicked your fingers at a girl to make her stop talking to you,” Kent countered.

Well, you got the Cristal and chocolate mousse all over these lovely pima cotton sheets. Also cum.”

“Bro, we were both plenty involved in the debauched, gay, rock-star sex here, that is not going on my tab. Well. I’m paying for the hotel room and damages. It’s not going on my moral tab.”

Bitty scratched one nail down Kent’s thigh. “You signed three tits, two asscheeks, and a scrotum like some sort of porn remake of the Twelve Days of Christmas.”

“You got me to hire four strippers because you kept dismissing them when they didn’t have any routines to Beyonce, and then you got onstage and showed them what you meant. Which was pretty incredible, actually, where did you even find the props?”

Bitty smirked, but didn’t explain. “You called Taylor Swift from the club because you wanted to hear Bad Blood, but the DJ was not taking requests because _he was Tiesto_ and he was in the middle of a set. She sang it to you while you laid on your face and fistpumped.”

“Swifty’s a good bro. You kept bragging to strangers about my abs and then ordering me to show them. Also, you bite,” Kent gestured loosely at the evidence on his thighs. And clavicle, and nipples.

“You _begged_.” Bitty smiled at him, slow and warm and sloppy. Kent grinned back and rolled over to suck his dick again.

 

* * *

 

They’d met the previous day at the pool.

Kent had taken the meeting with the Aces - and the trip to Vegas - without any real intention of accepting the job. He was feeling very good about that choice as he put his things down on the chaise next to a hot guy in very small pastel blue shorts.

Trying to pick up a guy in the middle of the day poolside was not the most subtle plan, but that was no reason to sit next to the middle-aged couple arguing their way through their anniversary trip instead. Anyway, he’d been thinking about coming out and arguably, considering his history of....inconsistent discretion, on some level he’d been been trying to get outed for a while.

Tight Butt might be straight, of course, but he wasn’t working very hard to give that impression. Unlikely to be offended by a little exploratory flirting, in any case.

Kent was still watching him when he reached for his umbrella drink on the table between them, where there was also a sweating red water bottle with a Samwell University logo. _Score_. Since his last breakup with Jack he’d found that he was too old to be non-creepily hanging out at college parties, which had been surprising and a little sad, and also very inconvenient: Samwell had been as good as a gay bar. Thanks to Samwell’s 1-in-4 reputation and proximity to Providence, in his early twenties he could easily go to a party and meet a lot of queer strangers while appearing only to be Eccentric Hockey Star Kent Parson, playing flip cup in a frat house.

Kent was obviously looking at him, and Tight Butt looked back over his sunglasses as he slurped at his tropical alcoholic slushy-thing. He clearly recognized Kent, but instead of engaging or looking flustered - people nearly always did one or the other, when he got recognized - Tight Butt only arched an eyebrow and went back to his book.

Well.

Kent was strategizing the approach while moving his sunblock and magazines onto their crowded little decorative table, and knocked over Tight Butt’s drink.

“Awful boy, look what you’ve done,” Tight Butt said crossly. Kent’s pulse throbbed inappropriately.

“I’m sorry?”

That eyebrow again.

“Can I buy you another?”

Tight Butt somehow accepted without actually saying anything, just looking inconvenienced and expectant. Kent signalled to a circulating waiter that they needed two more, then settled back in next to him.

“You might also have to buy me dinner, we’ll have to see how this goes.”

Oh, Kent liked this guy. Sassy as fuck, cute as a button, addictively hard to please. Thank God for free agent status and the Aces’ travel expense budget.

* * *

 

"Hey Kent? Hun? So, two things.”

“Yeah, Bits?”

“You need to call your PR team. And lawyer, probably, also.”

He was holding out his phone, open to the photos app, and Kent flicked through them.

Smeary neon lights. His own face, yelling gleefully and gesturing in front of a Lamborghini. Feet. A selfie of them grinning wildly. Selfie where he has turned to kiss Bitty’s cheek. Selfie where Bitty has yanked him by the hair into a kiss.

“What, did you tweet one of these or something?”

“Keep going.”

Photo through the window of a moving car. Photo of Bitty laughing. Photo of Bitty doing jazz hands in front of a chapel. Photo of the two of them standing at an altar. Photo of their hands wearing wedding rings.

 

Kent scrabbled for his phone, dialed, and put it on speaker.

“Heyyy, Lisa…”

“What did you do?”

He explained the situation as succinctly as he could. Lisa only took a second to, presumably, dig her fingers into her temples and internally curse his name.

“Because I am very, very good at my job, and because I know you, I have actually thought about this situation. There’s not going to be any burying it - so you have two real options. Get it annulled and weather the storm, which will be bad. Or release a statement before it breaks, coming out and announcing that you married your fiance in a private ceremony to avoid press attention, then stay married, at least until getting divorced won’t land you on the “Shortest Celebrity Marriages” listicles. You wouldn’t necessarily have to live together indefinitely, after the attention dies down some strategic public appearances would be enough. We’ll do our best to protect you whatever you decide, and there will be homophobic backlash no matter what. But I have to tell you, it will be much easier to control the narrative and get people on your side if you’re a happily married gay man than if you’re an out-of-control gay party boy.”

Kent met Bitty’s eyes a little wildly. “Lisa, I - I don’t - we’re going to have to discuss it? I guess? Bitty, I can’t make you pretend to be married to me for my reputation, but if we don’t this could ruin your life too-”

Bitty snatched his hand and threaded their fingers together, pressing the edge of his thumbnail to Kent’s palm. “Kent. I’ll be fine. I’ll be glad to stick around for a few months if you want, but I’m already out and I know how to say ‘No comment.’ If you want to be honest I’ll be okay.”

“No, I’d rather get to be the good guy _and_ keep hanging out with you. Stay married to me, please?”

Bitty smiled at him, softer than usual.

“Okay, Lisa, initiate plan B.”

“I’ll email you soon. Eric, can I change your flight so that you are traveling home together?”

Bitty gave her his phone number and email and frequent flyer number, and in another minute Kent’s phone was blinking Call Ended in his hand and he and Bitty were staring at each other.

Kent squeezed his hand and broke the moment by saying, “God, I’d have been drafted to Vegas if they hadn’t traded their pick to the Falconers that year. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I’d gotten dumped here at 18.”

“Well, I would have been underage, so you would have ended up with a far inferior accidental husband.”

 

Bitty went to the window and looked down at the city. Vegas, as always, looked much less glamorous in full light.

Kent watched him run his fingers over glass as he picked up the phone again.

“Hey, room service. My husband says your pastries are inedible, so you should do something about that. That’ll be a midterm goal for your organization, I’m just here with the assist because I’m a good guy that way, you probably can't fix it before we check out. What you can do is bring up a bottle of champagne immediately and book us a couple’s massage in like an hour. We’re on our honeymoon.”

When Bitty looked over his shoulder his grin was back.

 

They settled on the couch, Bitty using one hand to scroll on his phone but with the other wedged against Kent’s throat as he lay across Bitty’s lap.

“Hey Bitty, wasn't there a second thing you wanted to tell me?”

“The second thing is that we’re going to a jeweler today, because I got married with a ring which turned my finger green.”

“Aw, my hubby deserves better than that!” Kent teased.

“Shut up, or I’m going to drink the champagne out of the bottle instead of your asshole.”

Kent shut up.

* * *

 

Kent’s phone vibrated in his pocket: Jack again. Kent had texted earlier, because both as a friend and as a fellow public figure he owed Zimms a heads-up. They were amicable exes, and somewhat contentious best friends, still. Kent would have told him about a real relationship long before it went public enough for the news to reach him. And even if he’d been holding onto resentments about their relationship Kent wouldn’t have denied Jack a chance to get his own PR machine prepared; they’d been suspiciously ‘close friends’ in the media long enough that there would definitely be some speculation once Kent was out, if not immediately then certainly in the second or third wave of coverage. There was probably some sort of Queer Bylaw about it: Don’t Out Closeted Exes in Spite, Lest Ye Be the Bigger Dick and Lose All Your Moral Highground and Bitching Rights.

He’d already missed/judiciously ignored a call while at baggage claim, but now he was home and alone while Bitty was getting essentials from his old place. Kent winced a little and unlocked the phone.

“Kenny he is a gold digger.”

“Oh yeah, I should have put that together when he asked me to buy him a metal detector the other day.”

“Kenny.”

“That was funny, come on.”

“I really hate you.”

“Look, I’m sorry. But it's bad enough being the first player outed, i’m not going to be the guy whose gay marriage didn't last a year. And we’re not together anymore, you know. I can marry whoever I want.”

“This isn’t about that,” Jack answered stiffly, and a little too fast.

“Jack.”

“I just want you to be happy. ‘Accidentally married to a vegas twink without a prenup’ is not a recipe for happiness.”

“It’s not forever, and he’s really cool. Funny. You might like him.”

"You’d better not let this mess with your hockey.”

“Okay, _Dad_. I promise. Actually, you need to come visit us this weekend! You can meet him, make sure he’s not he’s not an undercover operative from the Pens sent to undermine me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Emma fragilehuge was dropping birthday hints the same week she was posting pb&j fic and humoring me while I got worked up about trying to write fanfic, so this happened.  
> I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and I hope you enjoy these trash boys enabling each other <3 It gets cute and poly eventually, but Jack's gotta be a real asshole first.
> 
> I'm really new to (writing) fanfiction, and I love nitpicky conversations about words, so tell me all of your quibbles with this, please :) and come play with me on [tumblr](http://selfsong.tumblr.com/) xoxox

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] We're Young and We're Reckless, We'll Take This Way Too Far by selfsong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601761) by [AmandaCritelliWestphal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaCritelliWestphal/pseuds/AmandaCritelliWestphal)




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